


The Summer Job

by RedWrittingHood



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, POV Sam Winchester, Pre-Hale Fire, Pre-Stanford, Sam Leaves for Stanford, Summer of 2002, Supernatural/Teen Wolf xover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3288272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedWrittingHood/pseuds/RedWrittingHood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam needs a little extra cash before going to Stanford and ends up in a town called Beacon Hills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Summer Job

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline is based off of the Teen Wolf and Supernatural wiki pages; pretty much before any of the shit hits the fan in TW and right when Sammy leaves in SPN (circa summer 2002).

When Sam leaves, it’s somewhat freeing. It shouldn’t be; he’s literally a homeless, penniless kid with nothing but a light duffle and an acceptance letter from Stanford to his name. He pays for a bus ticket to as far as he can get, but ends up in a little town called Beacon Hills—about a three hour drive from the school. It’s not really a problem; he knows a dozen different ways to hustle people and another dozen pickpocketing methods, so he knows he’ll be able to get some cash eventually. It’s just that he wanted Stanford to be different—honest. The acceptance letter, the scholarship—the full ride—it’s all in his name, his real name, with his real school records to back it up, and that means something. At least, he wants it to mean something. So, he has the whole summer to try and make enough to get him through a couple months until school starts, not that big of a deal. Administration won’t let him check into the dorm until freshman orientation anyway; if anything, this town could be a stroke of luck.

The first thing he does is grab a newspaper off of someone’s driveway—it’s still early, just after dawn, so there isn’t anyone around to see him. The newspaper has a couple of listings for summer jobs that he decides to look into and some advertisements for apartments and timeshares. He doubts he could afford any of them—and even if he could, people don't tend to agree to three-month contracts. 

Around nine he heads to the first place advertising for a part-time employee: a veterinarian clinic off the main road. His other options are a bowling alley, an ice rink, and a video store. The vet opens the earliest. 

Behind the counter is a man maybe in his thirties with tan skin and a hairless head. He raises his brows in greeting and offers Sam a kind smile that doesn’t completely reach his eyes. “How can I help you, mister…?” 

“Sam.” Sam offers the man his hand. “I’m here about your job ad.” He tries to look both professional and trustworthy, and also as though he likes animals a lot. 

“Ah, of course. Why don't you step into my office?” The man holds open the white-wooded door for him and led him into a back room. The man, whose nametag said Dr. Deaton, sat behind a large metal and wood desk, indicating for Sam to take a seat in a plush black chair across from him. “So, Sam, what are your interests and qualifications in veterinaries?” 

Sam takes a moment to sort his thoughts and glance across the office; it’s surprisingly neutral of persona affects, as offices go. Sam doesn’t see any pictures or achievement awards or letters like in the other doctors’ offices he’s been in, but there are a vast array of books on the bookshelf, with titles ranging from The History of Shepherd Dogs’ Behavioral Habits in Northern European Studies to Right vs Wrong: A Kitsune’s Morals. Sam’s not sure what to make of that. 

“I love animals,” Sam starts with, “but to be honest I don’t have much experience in caring or treating them.” He shifts in his seat. “This job just seemed better than the one at the bowling alley. At least, I think I’d enjoy this one more. I do know a little bit of first aid, though.” 

Deaton raises his brows and nods. “What makes you so eager for a job?” 

Sam shrugs a bit. “I’m going to Stanford in the fall, and I need a little extra money to get me started.” 

The vet is quiet for a moment, bringing his hand to a clasp in front of him. “Where are you from Sam? Beacon Hills isn’t a very big place, but I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you around before.” 

Sam nods. “Out of town.” 

“Oh?” He doesn’t look very surprised, actually. “And where are you staying?” 

Despite wanting to turn over a new, more honest leaf, Sam suddenly wishes he’d thought to lie. He tries for vague but positive; most people act concerned out of perceived social requirements, no one really wants the burden of helping a total stranger, so if Sam removes the pressure from Deaton to help, he will probably drop it. “I haven’t quite sorted that out yet, figured I’d find a place this afternoon. I’ve got a couple of prospects set up.” 

Deaton hums and nods. “I see. If you excuse me a moment, I must make a phone call.” He stands and heads for the door, and Sam can’t help but panic for a moment.

“I’m over eighteen.” 

Deaton turns to him and raises his eyebrows again. “Excuse me?” 

“I just…calling the cops or whatever, I’m over eighteen so they won’t get involved.” 

Deaton nods. “I am not going to call the cops,” He says, then leaves. 

Sam contemplates leaving—he could escape through the window if he needed to—but decides to hold off on any drastic measures. He can always jump out the window later. Deaton returns after only a few minutes and offers Sam a kind smile. 

“I think this job will be good for you,” Deaton says somewhat mysteriously. “I’ll expect you in the morning after ten until around three-thirty or so in the afternoon.” Sam nods, still expecting some sort of catch. “I think minimum wage to start with, does that seem fair?” Sam nods again. “Your duties will include walking and washing any dogs that need it, feeding all the animals, and cleaning the cats’ litter boxes as well as all the cages.” 

“Of course, thank you.” 

There’s a knock at the door that cuts the conversation off, and Sam turns when Deaton calls for the person to enter. It’s a woman with runaway curls, probably younger than Sam’s Dad, wearing scrubs. At first Sam thinks that maybe she works for the vet, but then she glances between him and Dr. Deaton. 

“Is this the kid you were talking about?” Deaton nods. “Hi, I’m Melissa McCall. Alan said you were looking for a place to stay?” 

Sam glances suspiciously from the suspiciously-innocent looking vet to the slightly rumpled woman in front of him. “Kind of.” He doesn’t want to tell these people that he has no funds to spend on an apartment or a motel.

Melissa smiles knowingly and pulled a chair over to sit in. “How are you with kids? Can you drive?” 

“Um.” He glances between them. “I like kids, and I can drive but I don’t have a car.” 

She nods. “Okay, here’s the deal: my husband’s just left—well I just kicked him out—and my usual carpool is having something of a family crisis. My son, Scott, is six and I’ve put him in daycare for the summer.” Sam nods along, not really following the conversation. “Problem is, I work weird hours sometimes.” She indicates towards her turquoise scrubs. “I need someone to drop him off and pick him and Stiles up when I’m working. Maybe cook them dinner occasionally?”

Wait, what? “I don’t understand.” 

“In exchange for room and board, like a nanny or something.” She smiles at him then looks at Deaton. “Alan said you seemed like a good kid and were looking for a place to stay. I just need someone until school starts back up again. I have a spare room; it used to be Rafael’s—that is, my husband’s office, but I’ve kind of made it into a guest room, even if it still has some boxes in it.” 

Sam glances between them. “I suppose daycare starts before ten and ends at four?” 

Deaton allowed a somewhat condescending smile and Melissa grinned. “You got it. What do you say?” 

Sam sighed and grinned. “That sounds great.”   
~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Scott and Stiles were deceivingly well behaved. When they knew they were being watched. 

Not an entirely fair statement, because in all honesty Scott was a genuinely good kid: he didn’t want to cause trouble for his mom, he was always adorably polite, and actually cleaned up after he ate. Stiles just had a way with words; a way of spinning terrible, deviously awful plans and making them sound like cool superhero backstories. Stiles quickly became the bane of Sam’s existence. 

Another not-entirely-fair statement—if not for the job at Deaton’s clinic and the room in the McCall household, Sam isn’t sure he would have made it through the summer—but it was a statement that Sam was comfortable with claiming. Loud and frequently. 

Stiles was probably the way he was because of Claudia Stilinski. Claudia, whom Sam had met the day after moving into the McCall household, was a vibrant woman with razor wit, a dying need for adventure, and no sense of discipline. She was also constantly in the hospital, receiving brain scans and x-ray. Sam isn’t sure why—isn’t sure if even Stiles knows why, or if the doctors know what’s wrong—but he’s decided it isn’t his place to ask. Mr. Stilinski, on the other hand, had to be some sort of saint. No matter what Stiles got Scott into—and no matter how hilarious and not-a-problem Claudia seemed to think it—the Sheriff handled everything calmly and sternly, but never losing his sense of humor. 

About a month in, Stiles convinced Scott to fill up several inflatable kiddie pools with water, string a bungee cord from a tree to the front porch, and practice their hang-gliding skills. Stiles ends up in a tree fifteen feet in the air, Scott has a broken arm and is completely soaked, and Sam learns for the first time that not every crisis is related to a ghost (though he does do a quiet exorcism on Stiles to double check). Mr. Stilinski handles Sam’s panicked call with a calm he wouldn’t have thought possible, driving over in his uniform and collecting a guilt-ridden Stiles out of a tree. 

“Scott said he wished he knew what flying feels like,” Stiles sobbed into his Dad’s shirt. 

Mr. Stilinski rubbed his son’s back and smiled at him. “Well I hope you’ve learned something from this little experiment of yours.” He took both boys and Sam to the hospital where they patched up Scott’s arm in a red cast that Stiles immediately started to decorate like Spider-man. The man never yelled, never got mad, and was caring of both Scott and Stiles who had more of a pouty face than his friend, despite being only a little scraped up.

“I really hope the lesson he gets out of this isn’t to try it with trampolines next time,” He tells Sam once they get back, sinking into the McCall couch and tipping his head back. Scott and Stiles are sitting on the living room floor watching Pokémon and eating some fruit that Sam sliced up for them. “I have to go pick up Claudia from the hospital, I don’t like her driving after her visits. Thanks for taking care of them, son.” He patted Sam’s back and stood to leave.

“But I didn’t.” It’d been bothering Sam the entire evening. “I left them alone and they both got hurt. I failed.” 

Mr. Stilinski snorted and rubbed the back of his head. “Kid, if you were actually able to keep these two out of trouble, I’d be more suspicious than anything. But you kept a calm head, and trust me, there aren’t many people who can do that. Hell, there are guys on the force who handle blood worse than you—I mean, the patch job you did on Scott’s leg could’ve been from an EMT, it was impressive.” 

Sam ducked his head to hide his smile. “I have a little experience with broken bones I guess.” 

The cop didn’t look pleased by that response, but didn’t push either. Probably because Sam was living with the McCalls now. “Stiles is going to spend the night here, I talked to Melissa at the hospital. See you tomorrow, kid.” He went to go give Stiles a goodbye-hug and then left.   
-~-~-~-~-~-~

Weekdays in the summer were probably the most hectic for Sam; he tried to keep up with the housework so that Melissa wouldn’t have to—and even drove the kids over the Stilinski household about once a week to tidy and mow there too, because he knew how crazy Mr. and Mrs. Stilinski’s schedules were already—and he worked at the clinic most days too. 

Doctor Deaton was probably one of the most enigmatic people Sam had ever met—and considering his life with hunters and their many hidden backstories, that was really saying something. Melissa had met him through Mr. Stilinski, who often dropped by to ask Deaton about animal attack cases. The man seemed to know things before they would happen—if someone was coming to visit or if a particular animal was acting nutsy he knew just how to calm them. Not to mention the many interesting characters that came into the clinic; Talia Hale was one of the scariest people Sam had ever met, and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because she was the opposite of everything that Sam associated with mother; she was strong and intimating and could cold-stare even Deaton into giving her a straight answer. She stopped by about once a week to talk to Deaton, though Sam was never privy to their secret meetings since Deaton always gave him some tedious task to do then locked his office door. It didn’t really make sense either, since as far as Sam could tell, the Hales—and there seemed to be a good many of them, Talia usually had a kid or two with her that stayed in the back room and played with the animals—didn’t have any pets. Peter Hale in particular creeped Sam out, to the point where he would willingly clean out cat pans in order to avoid the young man. 

There were also a couple of older people who would come in—separately and with posses of their own—but each time either of them came around, Deaton sent Sam home. Sam’s running theory was that Deaton was actually some sort of drug dealer for different cartels that all apparently derived out of the small town of Beacon Hills. He was still working on that theory.  
~-~-~-~-~

For all Sam had intended that summer to be a simple, transient part of his life, when it ended he couldn’t help be a little disappointed. He’d been marking the days off on a flip-book calendar of puppies that Deaton had at the clinic as the days dwindled he tried to prepare himself for going off to college. 

“So Alan told me you’ve been accepted into Stanford?” Melissa broached the subject over dinner one day. Sam had made spaghetti and Officer Stilinski and Stiles were eating with them since Claudia was spending the night in the hospital. 

Sam glanced up under his lashes at the two of them. His dad had flipped out when Sam had confessed that not only had he been accepted, but that he wanted to go. To leave hunting behind. “Yeah, a full ride, actually.” He quickly shoved some spaghetti in his mouth as an excuse to stop talking.

“That’s quite an achievement, son. When does school start?” Mr. Stilinski asked, gripping his neck fondly. 

“Next Thursday, actually. I’ve already talked to Doctor Deaton, and since Scott and Stiles go back to school tomorrow, I figured it wouldn’t be a problem?”   
Stiles looked up suddenly, his mouth hanging open to let tomato sauce-covered noodles hand out of it. “Yor weabing?!” 

Sam glanced between Stiles and his dad, who was looking at the kid with fond exasperation. “Well, yeah buddy. The summer’s up.” 

Mr. Stilinski cut off any further comment from Stiles by asking, “How’re you planning on getting there?” 

Sam shrugged. “There’s a gray hound every week that goes through Palo Alto, I figured I could take that.”

Both Mr. Stilinski and Melissa got mischievous looks in their eyes. “Or, we were thinking we could drive you out there this weekend. Make sure you get settled in good.” 

Sam couldn't help gape at that. “Really? Are you sure? I mean…I know firsthand how busy the two of you are.” 

“Of course we’re sure, son. You've been a life-savior this summer. We just want to make sure you’re taken care of too.”   
~-~-~-~-~-~-

Which is how Sam ended up in his dorm with his light duffle bag, a whole box of things Melissa and the Stilinskis thought he might need for his first semester, and a new laptop. He tried saying no, but when they insisted he couldn't stop his eyes from stinging. 

“Hey, kiddo, good luck in the real world,” Melissa said giving him one of the big mom-hugs he missed out on. 

“Here’s the name of a guy over in the DA’s office who’s waiting interview you for a job if you want it. It’ll look good with that shiny law degree you’ll have.” Mr. Stilinski handed him a business card and a piece of paper. “And that’s a number you can call at any time, for anything. Just let us know if you need help, okay son?”

Sam grinned and gave him a hug too. “Thank you so much.” 

When they left, his roommate, whose side of the room was full of school supplies, family pictures, and personal items, told Sam his parents seemed pretty cool. Sam decided not to correct him just yet.

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are mine, feel free to point them out.


End file.
